


when I saw this boy (it felt like)

by CheshireCaine



Category: Bleach
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Humour, Ichigo lowkey has idiot disease but we love him anyway, Idiots in Love, M/M, UraIchi Prompt Challenge #3, absolute morons, disappointing your parents, no betas we die like men—without thinking about the consequences of our actions, or is it canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCaine/pseuds/CheshireCaine
Summary: Ichigo can't use kidō for shit. But it's okay . . . Kisuke is morosexual.





	when I saw this boy (it felt like)

**Author's Note:**

> adapted from:  
>  _ek ladki ko dekha_ | when i saw this girl  
>  _toh aisa laga_ | it felt like this  
> (classic song's title whose name was used for a recent queer bollywood film #funfact #loosetranslations)
> 
> I knew I was pushing it with that summary but boy did these nitwits steer this fic in ways I didn't expect.

Ichigo hadn’t dropped by the Shōten for a week, even if he’d no doubt been making trips home during his summer visit to the Soul Society. Kisuke missed seeing him. He’d whined enough about it that Tessai threatened to burn all his underwear—made him miss the times Jinta and Ururu were too cute and small and well-behaved to even consider participating. But Ururu hurling fabric for Jinta to make combust in one baseball swing was taking it one too far. Especially when he’d had to duck to spare his face. (The same could not be sad for his hat, but fortunately and to Tessai’s enduring exasperation, he had spares).

Kisuke ‘gave in’ and dropped by the Seireitei. Curiously, there were some craters on the grounds of the 6th but those were definitely Ichigo’s fault. And _there_ was Ichigo’s reiatsu, slightly east of his expectations. Not quite at the barracks, but in a field nearby. With the same craters.

He’d need to get closer but it didn’t look like Renji and Ichigo had any marks to explain scarring the landscape enough that Captain Kuchiki would be out for their balls. They didn’t even turn at his approach—too busy clamouring and pulling each other’s hair—but Kisuke was too glad to see Ichigo to think about how ridiculous it was that hair-pulling wasn’t an exaggeration.

The sunlight dappling Ichigo’s hair made it look like he’d been set alight. He was gorgeous.

“Not _fire_ _!_ It’s ‘inferno and pandemonium!”

“Who cares about the difference?” Ichigo pushed his forehead into Renji, screaming back into his face. “It doesn’t work out either way!”

“Well, _maybe_ , if you stopped messing up the incantation, you’d have a chance of actually succeeding!”

“Oi!”

A rarely dejected Isshin clapped a hand to Kisuke’s shoulder in greeting, returning his nod with a lift of his mug.

Kisuke’s focus returned to the spectacle in front of him. “I never considered you to be a particular fan of tea, Isshin.”

“I can appreciate a good brew. But I think you mean _spiked_ tea.”

“. . . Spiked. Whatever for?”

“It’s been two weeks of this.” Isshin sipped his laced tea. “Turns out my son’s battle genius doesn’t extend to kidō.”

“Really?”

Isshin frowned and gulped at the tea. “I missed the first week but including the ones I didn’t see, I think Ichigo’s been rotated through about six different spells, with an equal lack of success.”

“With his determination, I’m surprised he hasn’t breezed through them.”

Isshin narrowed his eyes at him. “But knowing his stubbornness and the fact that this came out of a drunken bet, it’s a little more predictable.”

“Shakkahō! Shakkahō. Not chocobo. What the fuck is a _chocobo?!_ ”

Kisuke pulled out a handkerchief for Isshin to dab at his wet face.

“Shakkahō, chocobo, Matsumoto. Who even cares anymore?”

“Ichigooo!”

Isshin wiped his cheek while downing the rest of his drink. “Ichigo’s really trying to disprove the Shiba clan’s legendary kidō prowess.”

“I doubt me being here will make much difference if you haven’t been able to help. Though, I don’t believe Ichigo has much need for kidō—his arsenal is large enough.”

“. . . I really don’t need to know anything about my son’s arsenal, thank you, Kisuke. Haven’t had to see it since I was washing his baby arse in a sink . . . Ooh! Would you like to see the pictures?”

“Absolutely.”

“Kisuke, what are you doing here?” called Ichigo, face creasing into a grin as he finally looked up.

“I’m simply visiting, Ichigo.” Kisuke beamed back.

“Hey, old man, stop telling Kisuke weird shit.”

Isshin waggled his ‘Worlds’ Best Dad’ mug chastisingly. “If my future son-in-law wants to see my son’s naked pictures, who am I to stop him?”

“Eww, fucking hell, dad.”

“I will show him all your newborn bathing photos if you can’t even nail Sai before the new moon.”

“Shiba-taichō, you’re better off digging out those albums at this rate.”

“Shut it, you baboon!”

Isshin sighed into the empty mug. “If he just exhausted his reiatsu until he didn’t have enough for it to—”

_BOOM!_

“—To blow up in his and poor Abarai-kun’s face, this’d probably be solved a lot quicker. But he wants to do this without running crying to me. If he doesn’t change his mind in the next couple days, could you look into a reiatsu dampening field at least, Kisuke? Equipment might be less effective but I’m a retired old man and can’t be expected to do this 24/7 once he loses his pride about it. Only did that for eighteen months because we were at war at the time.”

Kisuke was too busy soaking in the missed sight of Ichigo to be listening.

“Well,” Isshin followed his eyeline—Ichigo kept forgetting to watch Abarai-kun’s demonstration and stealing glances at Kisuke. “At least he chose someone equally inattentive.”

“. . . I wish Chad had come to ask me for help instead of you.”

Ichigo inhaled like an offended walrus.

Kisuke sighed, content and dopey with love.

“I was promised less suffering in retirement . . . At least Tōshirō can’t stuff paperwork down my throat anymore.”

Blonde hair emerged over the horizon. “ _Oh, Captain!_ Hitsugaya-taichō keeps getting on my ass about these reports.”

“Renji, why can’t I just wait for my opponent to waste his time on a kidō and punch him while he’s doing his poetry? Renji! Renji, don’t go!”

Isshin had never related to Yamamoto more. He truly had some idiot kids.

•—☆—•

“Hadō #54! Haien!” Rukia shot a flame at the forcefield their enemies had thrown up. The shield curved in but the convict’s partner-in-crime dug in his heels and _pushed_ , forcing it to hold on even as blood dripped from his forehead.

“Brother, it seems our intelligence was wrong.”

Byakuya observed as the convict scrambled to his feet and reinforced the forcefield with layers of more protection. “Indeed. They were far closer to realising this technique’s potential than the twelfth division anticipated.” He swept his palm up, hand already collecting energy and launched a stream of lightning at the shield. It pierced to the middle, but the men ducked and were already repairing the hole.

“Brother!” The strike hadn’t pierced the other side of the shield—they’d already adapted.

•—☆—•

“Would that it didn’t reflect poorly on our noble house. I would kill Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“It’s to be expected of him now, brother.” Not even Rukia’s respectability could match her resignation to Ichigo’s idiocy.

•—☆—•

“Stay back, Kurosaki Ichigo. You are not needed for this battle.”

Ichigo looked at Rukia, offended. She tipped her head—her brother was right.

Ichigo folded his arms. “Nobody needs kidō that much.” He pulled Zangetsu off his back—good thing he’d chosen his old form ‘cause it was about to become mighty relevant—and grinned.

•—☆—•

Byakuya pinched his nose. “Being made to penetrate chainmail is not the same. He had no reason to anticipate that.”

Rukia passed him some painkillers and a glass of water.

•—☆—•

Ichigo _launched_ his sword at the men. It broke through the shield, golden cracks splintering in every direction. He tugged at the hilt’s cloth and yanked it out from mid-air, tearing his side of the shield to pieces. Zangetsu reformed into his usual two blades and Ichigo used the khyber blade to whack away more space in the shield for him to step through.

“You think I want to risk splinters when I’m wearing socks and _sandals!?_ ”

The men shunpo’d into the path of his other sword.

“I knew that’d work,” he said over his shoulder to Kisuke.

•—☆—•

“He did not.”

Rukia threw up her hands, grabbing the tablets and glass for herself.

•—☆—•

Ichigo after a battle, still taken by the joy and adrenaline, was . . . so cute. Hair a little askew and sheepish grin still firmly fixed in place, Kisuke couldn’t imagine being anywhere better.

“Is this what normally happens?”

Both Kuchiki siblings stared, stunned by the lovefest happening over the unconscious bodies of enemy combatants.

Ichigo took Kisuke’s hands in his and held them against his heart.

Rukia had never seen Kisuke’s eyes so twinkly—not even when he was trying to sell her untested products.

If the enemy had been awake to see what was happening, they’d probably have complaints about being used as footstools for two smitten fools to peck each other’s lips.

“I don’t feel secure enough in saying no.”

•—☆—•

Ichigo took a detour before hunting down Kisuke to find Tessai. He didn’t have the chance to pass off Yuzu’s experimental recipe before his boyfriend sprinted past him. Kisuke’s robes flapped about his legs as he pedalled into the living room past Ichigo and slid under the table holding some mangled fabric.

“ _Kisuke!_ Where is my fucking laundry? I need my shirt!”

It occurred to Ichigo—as Yoruichi ran in and dragged a screaming Kisuke across the floor by his ankles—that his boyfriend was fucking dumb.

But it looked cute on him. So who’d be able to tell?


End file.
